


O' Christmas Tree

by therunawaypen



Series: Sherlock Tumblr Prompt Fills [27]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Tree, Fluff, M/M, Snowball Fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-04 09:13:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therunawaypen/pseuds/therunawaypen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg and Mycroft go searching for the perfect Christmas tree. They get a bit...distracted along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	O' Christmas Tree

**Author's Note:**

> "Holiday Prompt: Mystrade go searching for the perfect tree to be the centrepiece at the Holmes’ mansion for the holidays. Headcannons for what constitutes the perfect tree and how to find it is up to you!" —ravenjade

“What about this one?”

“The bottom branches hang far too low.”

Greg let out a low groan, “You just complained about the last tree’s branches being too high.” He shoved his hands in his pockets as the two of them trudged through the snow at the tree farm, “What exactly are you looking for in a Christmas tree, Mycroft?”

Mycroft didn’t answer, simply wrapping his heavy winter coat around him tighter, “You were the one who insisted that we could find our own tree, Gregory.” The Holmes man sniffed indignantly, “I would have been more than happy to allow my employees to find a suitable tree.”

“Because that just screams holiday cheer.” Greg shook his head, “You know Mycroft, this would probably go _so_ much faster if you would just tell me what you need in a tree.”

“It’s not about what I need.” Mycroft scoffed, “If it were up to me, we would have erected the pre-lit tree I have in storage.”

Greg snorted, looking at Mycroft, “The great Mycroft Holmes has a _pre-lit_ tree in storage? Will wonders ever cease?” He chuckled, kissing Mycroft’s wind burned cheek, “So if you don’t care about what tree we find, why are we out here?”

Mycroft cleared his throat, cheeks turning redder by the moment, “My mother…”

The DI paled, “You mean—”

He nodded, “She’s coming for Christmas.” He sighed, “And she is very…demanding.”

“Ah.” Greg nodded slowly, wrapping his arm around Mycroft’s waist, “As in “the perfect Christmas tree” demanding.”

“You’re referring to the woman who spawned both Sherlock and me.” Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Well I guess now I’ll be able to thank her for that,” Greg smiled, leaning forward and kissing Mycroft softly, “won’t I now?”

Mycroft looked flustered (a look Greg always did enjoy seeing on the usually tight-laced and polished British Government) as he turned away, supposedly looking back at the Christmas trees. Greg smirked, bending down and scooping up a handful of snow while his lover’s back was turned.

To say the British Government shrieked when the snowball hit him in the back would have been an understatement, “Gregory!”  Mycroft turned back to chastise his lover, only to be hit in the face with another snowball.

By now, Greg was running in the opposite direction, though, judging by the _thud_ of a snowball hitting his back, Mycroft was right on his tail. He ducked and hid behind a few of the taller trees, wondering how long it would take Mycroft to—

Greg was soon choking on a mouthful of snow, with Mycroft staring down at him, pieces of snow sliding down his flushed face. “Gregory…”

“Mycroft…” Greg replied, eyeing the snowball in his lover’s hand, “Don’t do anything rash…”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, “I’m sorry Gregory, but you did bring this upon yourself.”

With that, Mycroft grabbed Greg’s collar, pulling it open enough to force the snowball down Greg’s shirt. The DI gasped at the sudden cold on his skin, reflexively trying to get the piece of ice out of his clothes. The entire time Greg was struggling, Mycroft watched him with an amused smirk on his face.

When the snowball was finally out of Greg’s shirt and back onto the ground, Greg chuckled softly, “Never thought I’d see the say when Mycroft Holmes would be in a snowball fight.”

“What can I say, Gregory?” Mycroft wiped the excess snow from his face, “You bring out the worst in me at times.”

“I wouldn’t call it the worst, love.” He smiled softly, stepping close to Mycroft, “Though I am glad I’m one of the few people who gets to see you like this…it’s nice to know you can relax sometimes.”

Mycroft smiled softly, “Perhaps you managed to get by my defenses, you and your ordinary ways.”

Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s waist, “For a man like you, Mycroft, ordinary is perhaps the grandest mystery you’ll ever unravel.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Mycroft nodded slightly, before looking at the tree in front of them, “You know, I think this tree will do just fine.”

“Does it meet your mother’s standards of perfection?” Greg raised an eyebrow.

Mycroft shook his head, “Not at all, but then again, nothing ever does.” He chuckled, “But I like the way it looks.”

Greg looked the tree over, then looked back at Mycroft, “You know, so do I.”


End file.
